Sarmatian Woman
by Bryher
Summary: I've been searching all my life for you. Short, fluffy sweet. Not for those who don't like fluff. This is another ficlet post.
1. Sarmatian Woman

I was in a bit of an odd mood and needed to write something soppy. Et Voila.

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**Sarmatian Woman.**

Softly, Gawain drew her back against his chest, slowly sliding rough palms down her arms, her head lolling back into his shoulder, a quiet sigh escaping her. Burying his nose in her silky mahogany hair, the blonde fighter drew a breath, smelling cinnamon and warmth. This was what he wanted. His Sarmatian woman. His.

Turning her gently in his strong arms, he tilted her chin, blue eyes gazing into green, feral facing pure. Slowly, the gap between them lessened, breaths from both becoming slightly faster, shared as Gawain paused for a moment, head tilted, eyes on her full lips. "I love you."

She closed her eyes. "And I you."

His lips pressed down on hers, soft, devouring. Gently coaxing her mouth open to let his tongue slip hungrily inside, his arms wrapping around her slim waist, pulling her tightly to him. She groaned, twisting lithe fingers into the blonde mass at the base of his neck, returning his ministrations with a slight grind of her slim hips. Gawain pulled away, growling as he fixed his lips to the soft skin under her ear, biting gently then laving over the wound with his tongue. Breath hitching in her throat, dragging her nails down tunic covered biceps, she whimpered as large hands roamed down her back, gripping her behind and hoisting her up, dress slipping up her legs as she was laid back into their bed, Gawain between her encircled limbs.

"I," Gawain groaned as his woman quickly divested him of his tunic and shirt, broad muscles of his chest rippling as he reached down to tug her dress up over her head, "don't understand what you do to me." She arched into him as his hand found her, a slight gasp threatening to turn into a loud moan. Gawain smothered her lips with his again, one hand working the laces of his breeches, other coming up to lean him over her, bracing him.

"You've stolen my heart." Suddenly, they were as one, a feeling so wondrous and completing that neither could speak for a moment, Gawain's head buried in her neck, her eyes wide and unseeing, small hands clutching toned shoulders. "I know." She whispered after a moment. "And I don't regret it."

With a quiet laugh, Gawain rocked gently, just once, stopping to look at the enraptured expression on his woman's face. Leaning on his elbows, he caressed her face, dropping light kisses on her face, thrusts becoming harder and more controlled, sweat shining on them both as pleasure mounted. "Gods!" She gasped, freezing and shutting her eyes, a cry escaping her as she clutched around him, bucking hard, lost amidst passion. Gawain growled, speeding up, love pounding through him as his hips pounded unto hers. Finally, achingly, they both exploded, cries mingling as the lovers gripped one another as they rode out the wave.

Collapsing atop her, Gawain couldn't move for several moments, before managing to roll onto his back, rolling her to lie on his chest, both exhausted.

"I love you." She whispered, tucking her head under his chin, a hand playing with a strand of hair. "More than you know."

Gawain chuckled, running a hand through her silky locks, one arm unconsciously tightening around her. She was asleep in moments.

"I've searched my entire life for you, my Sarmatian Woman." He whispered lovingly, kissing the top of her head before he too succumbed to exhaustion.

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Oneshot as far as i know. I can't see it going anywhere! I'd still like you to review though, please.


	2. Firstborn

Entirely the fault of Cardeia.-I should be doing a Student Lifestlye Audit Report! Not writing!

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Firstborn.

"He...I…Van...I-I…wow." Bors stammered, looking down at the little bundle in his arms, the perfect pale face sleepy and content. "I…"

Vanora chuckled, lying back against a mound of pillows, exhausted. "Bors, you don't have to say anything." The huge man looked up, eyes shining with love for his lover, leaning down to drop a lingering kiss on her forehead. "I do-I love you, Vanora. I love our son, too. So much…" He paused, looking back at the cherubic face in wrapping linens. "So _much._" Vanora mumbled, eyes closing sleepily. Bors stood watching her for a few moments, clutching his firstborn to his chest gently.

Quietly, so as not to wake his lover, he laid his child into the crib by the bed, taking one last longing look at the baby, dropping a small, whuskery kiss on his forehead, he left the midwife's chambers, emerging into a hallway packed with knights.

Closing the door, he motioned for them to follow, keeping his face grave. Arthur touched his arm worriedly, green eyes concerned. Bors looked at him, motioning to follow.

The perplexed knights followed the big man to well away from the birthing chambers. The night air silence was shattered by a joyous cry; "I have a son!" A huge roar went up as the knights yelled and whooped, banging their fellow brother on the back, an elated Bors dancing around, gripping Dagonet's wrists, who chuckled as he was whirled about. "I have a son!"

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Ailis-70; Thank you! Pleased you liked!

Cardeia; Woman! You give me ideas! Sorry for pouncing that on you at work by the way! (it's 10.30pm here, blame that!) I was cackling away as I read your review! I think you might be right, this can be another ficlet post methinks. Meanwhile, you sounded as though you really wanted that Bors and Van fic, so I whipped one up. It probably needs fine tuning, but hey! Hope you liked.

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Please Review. 


	3. I Want What I Can't Have

ANGST WARNING. NOT A FLUFF FIC. 

I Want What I Can't Have. 

Leaning against the wall, Lancelot's eyes burned angrily into the darkness, rakish curls falling into the ember coals that shone no light. Fists clenched, strong, supple ligaments tensing in his arms as he shook, pain, anguish and fury tearing through him.

"Why?" He whispered, voice harsh and grating, deep and pained. Those eyes did not see what lay before him.

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"_Arthur…" Pressed into the wall of the corridor, Guinevere groaned as Arthur slid his hands up her arms, gripping them gently as he leant his hips hard into hers, curly head buried in her neck, soft skin bared by her scoop necked dress. Arthur's eyes burned in passion as he kissed his lover on the mouth, dominating the smaller woman, using his body to hold her where he wanted her. Primal, fierce. This was a side of Arthur that no one saw, save for Guinevere. And those that watched jealously from the shadows. The torchlight flickered and danced around the pair as small hands wound themselves in soft curls, and rough palmed hands gripped hips hard, pulling and grasping. _

_Eyes dark as the night shone with pain. Shone with resolution. _

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The pain was leaving. It always did, presenting in it's wake a calmer, more resigned Lancelot. He'd caught them like this before, and he'd wanted nothing more than to tear Arthur's eyes out and take Guinevere for his own. A sigh escaped, misting on the cold night air.

"I want what I can't have."

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Short and a bit brutal. Et Voila.

LANCELOTTRISTANBABY; thanks!

Calliann; heh. Enraptured huh? Yay!

June Birdie; Thanks!

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Please Reivew; fluff fic next..


	4. She

Impossibly fluffy.

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**She.**

Impossibly blue eyes watched from over the rim of a mug, straggly blondish brown curls falling sweetly across his forehead. She was _so_ lovely.

"Who've you got your eyes on, Lad?" Grunted Bors, giving the feisty redhead walking past a pat on the bottom, earning him a glare. "Been hiding behind your cup all night!"

Galahad glared at Bors, blushing. He was, in truth, watching out for someone. And that someone didn't know he existed. He ducked as she looked over to their table, hoping she didn't see him watching her.

She hadn't noticed.

"N'one." He mumbled, lifting his stubbled chin from his arms, which lay crossed before him, and taking a sip of ale. "Leave m'lone."

Bors chuckled, leaning forwards. "Who?"

"Go away." Galahad yelped warily, raising his upper body from it's slumped position. "I don't have to tell you." His face was steadily getting redder, a soft flush that spread across his cheeks, curls tumbling into his eyes.

"Don't have to tell Bors what?"

Inwardly, Galahad cringed with embarrassment as Gawain sat down beside him, slinging a friendly arm about his shoulders. Bors grinned-"Who he's been eyeing all night."

"Really? The Pup's got a crush?" Gawain laughed, turning to look at the now beetroot coloured Knight. "No, I don't!" Galahad cried, leaping up from the bench. "Argh, you're both gossiping women!"

As he stormed away, Gawain commented to Bors, "Place bets? I bet I know which girl it is."

**

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Two Days Later.**

He slid behind a row of shields outside the blacksmith, watching her over the top of the shining metal. Her hair caught the sunlight, an autumn brown that bounced off the curls that cascaded down to a slim waist, her dark green dress fitted to her, swishing gently around her ankles. Pale, clean skin and dark, wide eyes with lashes that could have belonged to a goddess. She walked among the stalls, examining material, eyes searching. Galahad felt his throat constrict as she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, small hands picking up a deep red material and smoothing over it. Eyes riveted, he watched as she bit her lip thoughtfully, before asking the keeper how much it was. Her expression of dismay tugged at his heart. She turned as the red head from the bar walked up to her and said something, drawing her away. Galahad ducked out from the shield rack and jogged over to the stall, pulling his purse from his belt.

"How much for the red material?" He asked, picking up the fabric. It was wonderful; it looked incredibly expensive. The keeper looked up, squinting.

"Seven denari."

Galahad gulped. You could buy _two_ chickens for six denari. He handed over the money.

**

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Three Months Later.**

Sighing, Galahad leant his chin on a palm, elbow dangerously close to the edge of the table. She was working again tonight. Gawain and Bors looked at each other knowingly, grinning into their drinks.

She danced out of reach of a Roman soldier, who tried to grab her into his lap. Galahad shifted, eyes narrowing jealously. Gawain rolled his eyes, shaking his head in consternation. "Gal, go to her."

Galahad started. "What?"

"Go. To. Her." Bors repeated slowly, before roaring with laughter as Lancelot received a mighty slap from the red headed barmaid, whom Bors called "Vanora."

"We're going to be here a _long_ time yet." Gawain reasoned. "Besides," he mumbled, picking up his drink. "Bors and I are sick of defending you against the others."

Galahad's gaze switched from the beauty serving the table across from theirs to Gawain. "What others?" He asked, perplexed.

"Us."

Tristan sat down next to Bors, facing Gawain. "We've got a bet going on how long it'll take you to speak to her." His voice was low, amused. Galahad bristled, cheeks colouring. "_What_?" He hissed, outrage in his newly deepened voice. "You've been…_betting_?" Tristan's eyes met Galahad's, cool and calculating.

He shrugged; "Lancelot thinks she'll be his before the week is out." Galahad looked at Lancelot, who was trying to reason with Vanora, holding a red cheek. Trying to stifle the fury that boiled within him, Galahad snapped stiffly, "Not with a face like that."

"Touchy, Galahad?" Gawain remarked dryly. The youngest knight glared before leaving, broadening shoulders shoving through the crowds.

**

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Five Years Later.**

Galahad leant his chin on the whore's shoulder, closing his eyes and pretending it was _her_.

'_Faerin_.' He thought wistfully as the whore leant down to tilt his head up, shifting on his lap as she attacked his mouth. Half heartedly, Galahad responded, giving a small groan as the woman shifted about in his lap. Finally becoming annoyed at the handsome young knight's lack of enthusiasm, the whore flounced off. Galahad stood, finishing his drink and making excuses to Gawain, who was quite merrily off his face, dancing a mad jig to the musicians with a confused looking whore. Leaving the revelry of the tavern behind, Galahad thought miserably about his plight. He loved her, he knew that. But he didn't know how to tell her. Enough was enough. It was all or nothing now.

Shuffling his feet, he turned to walk to the ramparts, when he collided with someone, the smaller person falling to the ground with a startled cry. Galahad looked down, surprised. "Oh-I'm so….Faerin?"

She laughed, looking up at him from the floor, curls tumbling about her pretty face. "Hello, Galahad. You should be careful, a Roman soldier would start a fight for that." Galahad scowled at the thought, pulling her up gently. She was centimetres away from him, smelling of grass and sky. Galahad's face coloured as he looked down at her, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck gingerly. Faerin grinned, one hand raising to touch the end of his nose lightly. "You're going red, Galahad. You don't have to-…"

'_It's all or nothing…_'

Galahad's larger palm grasped her slender fingers and brought them to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft skin. Faerin's eyes grew larger, as Galahad stepped a little closer, sliding a hand around her waist.

"Galahad?"

"Shh. No words." Faerin gave a sudden moan as hands slid expertly up and down her spine, lips at her neck making her tilt her head to allow him better access. Galahad felt a surge of euphoria, raising his head to lower his lips to Faerin's, kissing her slowly, a kiss full of fire. She gasped, twining her fingers in his hair, closing her eyes as passion raged through her.

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Tristan and Bors grinned from the shadows, holding a quietly mumbling Gawain up between them. "I told you telling them _everyone_ had bets on was a good idea." Tristan remarked as the entwined pair backed into a wall, Galahad's hands firmly gripping Faerin's hips as her arms tightened around his neck.

"Aye, well." Bors muttered. "Galahad's more gullible than Faerin. She didn't believe me when I said that."

"You still owe me ten denari."

Bors cursed quietly as they dragged Gawain towards the barracks.

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Faerin's eyes fluttered open, sleepy and sated. Her slender frame was stretched along a taller, more muscular build, covered with a heavy, warming fur. Sighing contentedly, she wriggled about a bit, stretching her arms. Wrapping one arm over Galahad's torso, she snuggled her head into his shoulder, very much aware of how naked they both were. She didn't see Galahad's other arm dangle from the bed, hand gently clutching red material.

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Please review! 


	5. Her Scout, His Lover

**Warning; Mature content. **

**Tristan/OC.**

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Her Scout, His Lover. 

There was nothing more he could have wished for at that moment. Sitting there and watching her, moonlight streaming through the window and falling onto her, her gaze directed out into the sky, calm and peaceful. Her black dress contrasting sharply on her pale, clean skin and against her gold silken hair, the material, although sombre, fitting her well. And then there he was, sat at the other side of the room, in the shadows, dark hair falling across his face, braided in some placed but not in others, wild and untameable. Or so others thought. For she had tamed his heart long ago, as soon as they had arrived at the wall and he had laid eyes on her, Tristan knew that he loved her. Her voice startled him for a moment, his eyes focusing again. "You've been watching me for an hour, my love. Is something wrong?"

"No." He murmured, rising and meeting her halfway across the room. Taking her hands in his, The Scout looked into her dark eyes. "Just thinkin'."

She tilted her head sideways, giving his a look that he couldn't read. The area around his loins stirred as his woman reached a hand up and tenderly smoothed his hair back from his eyes, lovely face concerned. "You worry me. You see so much and say so little…" His heart wrenched as she bit her lower lip, eyes flickering in the semi-light. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, tenderly brushing the skin of her neck with his thumbs as he tilted her jaw. She drew a breath, surprised at the softness and heat of his mouth, closing her eyes as he slipped her dress from her shoulders, mouth tracing the path of his fingertips across her skin. "Tristan…?" She breathed as the Scout gently pushed her back onto the fur covered bed, gently lowering himself between her parted legs. He didn't reply, instead making a blazing trail of kisses down her body, stopping at her navel to a groan of displeasure. A somewhat feral smile tugged at Tristan's mouth as he stood up, divesting himself of his clothing and pulling her dress off the rest of the way. For a moment, he looked down at his lover, wondering at the way her supple limbs gave a homely light from the moon, his own muscular structure outlined lovingly by the sun's other half. Her gaze fixed on his, eyes running eagerly over the planes of hardened muscle; broad chest and strong, sculpted arms and legs, the small thatch of hair from his navel to hisgroin and the mat of hair on his chest.Tristan's lean form moved gracefully towards her...Then, mouths met in a harsh way, love, lust and need in every desperate kiss, hands gripping and kneading, skin sliding against skin-and then, he moved into her, both pausing with gasps before Tristan gently began to move. Passion built in her, the pit of her stomach boiling with something primal and fierce. Mouths meeting again, she gripped her Scouts shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist even as strong hands drove her hips upwards to meet him. This was their love, and it was forever. No other could take her place, and no other could take his. With a cry, she found completion, his name bursting from her mouth, his voice joining hers moments afterwards. As he slumped atop her, sated and sleepy, she curled her fingers into his hair, resting his head on her collarbone.

Yes, this was forever, Her Scout, His Lover.

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**Please Review.**


	6. Feelings

Whichever knight you want it to be. In your review (should you choose to review), tell me which knight you think it was. I know who I was thinking of. But I won't say, incase it changes your mind.

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A feeling starts as something small, a tiny speck in the myriad of emotions that makes up a soul. Then, it grows and grows and grows, becoming something slightly more dangerous and wild. This was how he felt about her. This was his love for her.

At first, she was a loner on the outskirts of the village.

Then, she was a kindly face in the dark of the stables.

Then, she was a welcoming sigh in the whisper of the trees.

This was how he felt about her.

It was like when he fought. Putting everything into the sweep of the blade, everything into the curve of his arm and the grace of his steps. He put everything into trying to tell her how he felt about her. The first time he tried to express it, he had pressed her into the wall, his hips digging into her as he planted his hands on either side of her head. It was a stark memory of wide eyes and gasped breaths as he ground his hips hard, trying to keep calm, trying not to take her against the rough brick.

The second time, it was leaving small things where he knew she would find them. A pretty ribbon tied to the tree near the pool where he watched her. A lucky charm on the door handle of her dwell.

The third time, it was in the stables. It was this time that it was the best. He'd flung her into the straw and landed atop her, hard mouth moving passionately against her own, the drying blood from his latest skirmish on her skin, on her clothes, and she didn't care, gripping his shirt with needy hands.

It was this time that he'd sunk into her with a groan, closing his eyes and frowning with concentration, her accepting legs wrapping around his waist. That was the time.

It was now, as he watched her running along the road after their son that he smiled, warmly and lovingly. She was everything that he ever wanted. And more. She was his. She was everything.

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Hmm. Odd. Haven't felt the meed to write like this for a while!

Mood just grabbed me and wrapped me up, as it does.

Please review.


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